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| Gaz Posts: 13/16 |
((Open challenge to anyone. I don't know how many times a day I'll be able to reply, but I'll try my very best to reply at least once a day. I hope to have as much fun as you do.))
This world is full of people. People of different races, of different species, of different backgrounds and their own stories to tell, each of their stories long and complicated enough to fill an endless, neverending book of pages. Each person, with their own indivdual appearances, personalities, thoughts and memories, are unique in his or her own special way. Most people of this world live fairly ordinary lives- they grow up in different ways, albeit very ordinary ways. Some get an education, others don't. SOme have aspirations in life, others do not. Some were born in priveledge and nobility, others born into extreme poverty and hunger. And yet, for all the countless people in this world, only a few were anything like "him". "He" was Darias, and, despite being a relatively unknown figure was, in the long term, a very important person. Of course, he didn't think that. He concidered himself as a warrior, nothing more, nothing else. Sure, he was a lot more powerful than most, and saw each fight with Zen-like efficiency, cold but effective, but he was a warrior nontherless. People who knew him barely knew him at all. He came and went, seeking new challenges and destroying any stray monster or goblin that stood in front of the path he was walking on. His home was not known, however his reputation was, particuarly in the kingdom of Maralais. Among other things, Darias had helped stop a civil war in this country, as well as overcoming a conspiracy to take over the royal family. But, afterwards, he claimed it was just "something he did", and left the country with little notice. Stories of him were often greatly exaggurated, but some of them shockingly close to the truth. And, despite this level of intrigue surrounding his name, the type of intrigue that is usually assocciated with a person of legend or fable, he was a man of a mere thirty three years of age. The northern winds caught the rim of Darias' coal-black coat, allowing it to blow gently behind him. He was standing in the middle of a field in the middle of the night, for reasons only he knew. He was in the kingdom of Rafarnark, a realm just barely creeping out of the Medieval era, and also the country he had originally grew up in. Surprisingly for Rafarnark and it's usually warm climate, it was cold this night, bitingly so, and the dark clouds that loomed overhead signalled only one thing. A storm was on it's way. Most sane people wouldn't be caught dead in a Rafarnarkian storm, but Darias wasn't like other people. He seemed to be waiting for something, his narrow but deep eyes scanning the dark, misty fields for something, his ears pricking at every sound. Strapped to the right side of his belt were a pair of identical scabbards, which contained two very different blades. His hands rummaged in the front pockets of his long dark coat as he waited...and waited. What he was waiting for, only he knew. |
